


it's insufferable, i don't want to hide it

by marriottsmushrooms



Series: maybe it's inevitable [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Basically will and George come out to their parents, Coming Out, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, a lot of hurt and not a lot of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriottsmushrooms/pseuds/marriottsmushrooms
Summary: He remembers that morning, George's hands around Will's waist, Will's hands around George's neck. He remembers the way George told him that they'd both be fine, and had kissed him carefully, hands slipping into hair, lips parting.





	it's insufferable, i don't want to hide it

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ho it's your favourite lesbian here to dish u the good shit 
> 
> VERY HEAVY HOMOPHOBIA  
> Be careful babies ily happy pride month
> 
> I know I said I'd have a George/James  
> But that's under construction so have this ig
> 
> Let me know if you would like a part twoooooo
> 
> Au revoir

Will's mum, being the saint she is, sits down at the table when Will politely asks her to, a mug of tea between her hands, and a warm smile on her face. Will doesn't focus too much on her, being busy thinking about what he's about to say. His hands fumble in his lap. He's waited too long for this, come close to it so many times, but this is it, and he knows it.

"You alright, pet?" She asks, her warm hand coming up to cup the side of his face. It's strangely comforting, and Will smiles. "You look a bit peaky, are you coming down with something?"

Will shakes his head, and she retracts her hand, returning it to wrap around her mug.

Will feels like the inside of his throat is coated with glue, every time he tries to talk, the words get stuck, and form one large lump that he can't seem to swallow.

"Mum, I need to tell you something," Will chokes out, and then winces ever to slightly. He wants to be brave, he knows this will be easy if he just comes out and says it.

"Alright," She replies casually, never taking her eyes off of him. Will finds that he can't meet her gaze. He stares into her tea, anything to avoid eye contact.

"Alright," Will echoes, mainly to reassure himself that he's fine. That he's allowed to be here, and what he's about to admit is not a crime or a sin.

He knows it'll be fine, he knows she'll hug him, and tell him that he's her baby, and she'll always love him, but there's that possibility that gnaws away at the back of this mind. That 'what if?'

"You know George?" Will asks.

"I do."

He knows she does, she's always known George. She's made George hundreds of cups of tea, baked multiple batches of cookies just to welcome him into their home, given him hug after hug, and yet Will still needs to make sure she understand who he's talking about. He feels silly for asking. Especially now.

He thinks about George, recalls the feeling of their hands when they touch, remembers the smoothness of his lips, and his skin in general. He thinks about the way George's hair sits, falls, sticks up at odd angles first thing in the morning. He remembers how it feels to push his fingers through it. He remembers the way George laughs, all crinkles by his eyes and head thrown back. He remembers that morning, George's hands around Will's waist, Will's hands around George's neck. He remembers the way George told him that they'd both be fine, and had kissed him carefully, hands slipping into hair, lips parting.

Will knows what he wants to say, has the words ready to spill out, but they don't come. He chokes a little on the lump in his throat, bringing his hand up to his mouth.

"We're dating," Will chokes out, looking down. Will's mum doesn't reply, and Will feels his stomach drop. "We're together, and I love him, and he loves me and-"

"Will," She coos, leaning over to pull the hand away from his face. She doesn't let go, holding his hand from across the table. Will breathes in deeply, looking up. "That's lovely. He's perfect for you, and I'm happy, pet. I'm happy if you're happy."

Will huffs out a light laugh with a grateful smile, and he stands up quickly to wrap his arms around her.

"You're okay with the whole, me snogging blokes thing, then yeah?" He asks quietly.

She tuts loudly.  
"Of course I am, you silly boy," she grins. "You are who you are, and I love every bit of you."

"Thank you," he murmurs, still smiling. He can't wait to tell George.

"I can't believe you were so worried. Now, you bring George round again, alright? I want to hug him too, poor lad."

Will laughs breathily.

"Yeah, alright."

-

George knocks at the front door of the house he knows all too well, for its the house he grew up in. The flowers by the sides of the path have died, and the grass is patchier than it used to be, but it's his home. _His._

He slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels as he waits. He sees a figure behind the frosted glass, and then hears the sound if a key scratching against the door lock. Eventually it clicks, and George is greeted by the warm face of his mother, her apron around her neck and a bowl in one hand.

"Come in, come in," she beckons, stepping out of the way. It smells like home, George notices. He supposes it would, and it takes him back to stepping through the door after school, after parties, after dates and football games. Every time, greeted by that smell. Not to mention the wafts from the kitchen. George wishes he could stay and eat, but he knows he better not.

George follows his mother into the kitchen, and leans against the counter, smiling at his father. They exchange brief questions, the three of them, 'how are yous?' and 'did you watch the football?' It seems all too adult, for George. He wishes he was fifteen and stood here instead.

"What have you been up to then?" His dad asks, glasses halfway down his nose as he lounges at the table, inspecting this weeks' paper.

"Not- not much," George mumbles. He still has control, but he knows as soon as he does what he came here to do, he will lose it. "Just, keeping at it."

His mother hums, focused not on him, but on whatever she's throwing onto the frying pan.

"Break any hearts, yet, love?" His mum laughs, accompanied by the sizzle of the pan and the smacking of the knife repetitively against the chopping board.

"I'm actually in a relationship," George blurts out, when his mum is focused on something else, facing away, and his dad is focused on some column. George watches his mum stop her fiddling, and turn around to face him, a wide grin on her face. His dad looks up too, lowering his paper.

"Oh, Georgie," She coos, patting him gently on the side of the face. "Who is she? Do we know her?"

George feels his stomach drop. He should have expected this, how could he have expected anything else? He's never been open about who he is, what he wants. Not to his parents at least. How could his mum have known any different?

He can't force himself to say it. All the time he had spent planning, all the restless nights just rehearsing what he would say, hypothetically, and then Will pulling him around and gathering him into his arms, telling him to, "Sleep, baby, sleep." But that was hypothetical, and this is not. He can't say it, he can't even focus, eyes darting frantically between his father and his mother, watching their faces grow almost comically more concerned.

"George?"

The ice shatters. He shakes his head frantically.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out and he thinks himself stupid. He's overreacting. His parents don't even know. They must think he's out of his mind. George feels like it. He brings his hand up to his mouth and coughs, trying to pass it off as something in his throat, but the lump feels too big to dislodge. He swallows anxiously.

"George, what's going on?" His father asks, and he hears his mother shush him sharply, turning back to him and placing her hands on the sides of his arms.

"Come on, tell us what this lovely girl is like," she coos, trying to move the conversation on.

"It's not-" George starts. He breathes deeply, and then carries on. He tries to stay calm. "It's not a girl."

His mum looks a little taken aback. He doesn't even dare to look at his father.

"Funny," George hears him scoff, undertones of amusement but still reluctantly speaking. "What is it, a dog?"

"Be quiet," his mum snaps, rolling her eyes. She smoothes her hands down his arms. "He means to say that she's a _woman_ , not a girl. Silly of me."

"No, no, you're both wrong. It-" He pauses. He knows this is it. After this, nothing is under his control. All he has is Will. "It's- He's, a guy. He's a guy, and I love him, and that's who I'm in a relationship with. A guy."

He repeats it for them, repeats it for himself, as if with every reminder that he's with a guy, and with every flash of Will in his mind, he reassures himself that this is definitely who he is. He has made no mistake. He cannot, and will not take it back.

He shuts his eyes. He doesn't want to open them. His hands feel empty even though there was nothing in them to begin with. He's let his darkest secret spill and now everyone is drinking it down. It is no longer his.

"George," She murmurs. He hands move away from him as if she's burnt by his touch, and his heart aches a little when he feels her move away. He opens his eyes, and focuses on her. "How can you know that? You're only young, you just haven't met the right girl yet."

"Mum, please, don't do this," George begs, his head falling. He feels like there's a hole straight through his abdomen. It hurts, more than he thought it would.

"You can't just go around with other men because you haven't found her yet, George. You have to wait, she'll come around eventually." Her hands clutch George's wrists. He pulls them from her grip.

"You're not gay, are you, George?" His dad laughs, though George knows its forced. "He's putting it on. I know my lad, I bought you up the right way."

"Dad, god, please, just listen to me, both of you."

"Don't scare us like that, George," His dad almost growls. George knows he's trying to intimidate him. Trick him, get into his mind and flip the switches until George is programmed exactly as he wants him. The perfect son. "Look at your mother, pale as a sheet."

"Dad, please," George begs. His chest aches. He tries to remember where he went wrong.

"My son, getting with lads, makes me sick. You're a sick joker, you know that?" He murmurs, picking his paper back up. George knows he's being ignored now. He looks back at his mum.

She doesn't look good, his father was right. There seems to be no colour to her face, and it makes George's chest ache to know that such a small thing about him could make her feel such a way.

"You aren't gay, are you George?" She asks quietly, worry in her eyes.

George feels his throat close up. He can get the control back, if he wants to. He can tip his cup back up, and take his secret from everyone who knows and put it all back inside. He can pretend the last five minutes had never happened, with 3 words. So he says them.

"No," he lies with a shrug, a grin on his face and a painful ache in his heart. "'Course not."

He lies to her, and his father. He lies to Will, the only boy he thought he'd ever love, the only one who makes him feel alive like he does. He lies to Alex, the first boy he'd ever kissed, all messy and amateur, and veins full of alcohol. Hands in hair, skin against skin. He lies to James, the only one who he trusted enough to talk to at one period in his life, the only one who had both held him through his tears, and cheered him through his successes. He lies to each and every person he and Will had invited to their 'flat-warming party,' where they had drunk too much and stood on the island in the kitchen, and declared their love for each other whilst everyone watched and shitty music played in the background. He lies to his old school friends, who had clapped him on the back and told him they were proud of him, no matter what. He lies to Will's mum, all soft-eyed and arms wide open, smelling like baking and flowers and all things that make you feel cosy. He lies to Will's dad, all firm handshakes that developed into hugs, all cheering at the telly when the football's on, all pints down the pub, just the four of them, and George finally feels like he belongs.

He lies to himself. Breaks down every brick he'd placed to build the steps to get to where he is now. Each breakdown in the middle of the night, at the club, in James' arms, in Alex's, in Will's. Each kiss, with boys he knew, boys he didn't, girls he didn't want to date, with Will. Each time he'd slid his hands into Will's hair, into Alex's, into random guys' at clubs that gave him hickeys that lasted for days, until Will was the only person who he let near his neck. The first time he'd let Will touch him, let Will strip him down to his most vulnerable, and treat him like glass, so careful, so loving. Every step of the way, every realisation was a brick, and now he's at the top with no way down, and he feels like he's about to fall.

"You silly boy," She tuts, and hits him firmly on the arm. "Your stupid tricks, they'll be the death of me."

George nods, throat dry, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Keep sending them prompts my way 
> 
> Also part 2?? Yes or no and what would you want to see?


End file.
